Dominion Infest The Rats' Nest | Dominion of Ithor | NIO

[IMPCOM]

D A R K _ V E N G E A N C E
New Imperial Order vs Sith Terrorists
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I T H O R
I N F E S T _ T H E _ R A T S ' _ N E S T

Ithor. A peaceful world, a quiet people. The Ithorians have long remained the tender caretakers of their venerated world, watching over the sentient forests from their Herd Ships high in orbit over the planet. While war raged to the north of them along the Braxant Run, they remained isolated, peacefully separated from the conflict. But soon the Galaxy came knocking.

The New Imperial Order had sent delegates to meet with the Council of Ithor aboard the Herd Ship 'Tafanda Bay' and while the Ithorians had been all but maligned and regarded as lesser beings by Empires past, the New Imperial Order sought to establish a trade agreement. To broker a deal in which the Ithorians would give the NIO access to its technology used for healing and restoring worlds scorched in the fires of war and in return, the NIO would provide military protection over the Ithor system and its Herd Ships.

A deal of mutual benefit and seamless integration for the otherwise Imperial averse Ithorians.

But of course, the Galaxy never operated on such simple terms and bargains.

​

OBJECTIVE I //: SUPERBUG

While the New Imperial delegation met aboard the 'Tafanda Bay', the 'Tree of Tarintha' was attacked by the Qo'krataa. Just with the New Imperial Order's Special Operations Command hot on their tale after their operatives were nearly apprehended by Storm Commandos Kolson Vrask and Meko Sorrin the New Imperial Order was late to the draw.

Taking advantage of the otherwise charitable nature of the Ithorians, supposed 'refugees' enslaved by the Qo'krataa acted as agents of martyrdom and detonated charges packed with Omega Red found by Gatlin on Borosk. Two New Imperial military shortcomings had led to another and now the New Imperial Order has to clean up the mess once more and make good on its agreement to protect Ithor or fear the terms of their agreement falling through to nothingness.

But the Qo'krataa would not be the only group here to assail the New Imperials...

​

OBJECTIVE II //: IMMOLATE

The enemies of the New Imperial Order would make ruin on them today, bury them into a pit where they could only be regarded as incompetent and unable to defend Ithor. With pirates on the payroll of the Qo'krataa and the sudden arrival of the Dread Ascendancy headed by Kascalion Giedfield , the New Imperial Order is under ambush. As Sith terrorists board Ithorian Herd Ships it is up to the Imperial Navy and New Imperial operatives move to assail them aboard their own ships or with the might of the Imperial Armada destroy them in Ithor's orbit.

Board Sith vessels, destroy or disable them and move to intercept Sith boarding craft as they move aboard the Ithorian Herd Ships. We can not fail here, not today.

​

OBJECTIVE //: BYOO

Whatever gets you to post, chief

// SETPIECES //:
> Ithor

// OPPOSITION FACTIONS //:
> Dread Ascendancy
> Qo'krataa

 

[Waymar Dathrohan]

H A M M E R - S I X
181st STARFIGHTER WING | HAMMER SQUADRON
SEVENTH FLEET | NIV PENITENT PELLAEON IV-CLASS STAR DESTROYER
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
TIE/HF Slasher | Flight Suit
M E _ 2 6 2

Three...

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Two...​

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One...​

It was finally time to jump. A trip through the academy, countless simulations and training flights and it was his time. His time for his fighter to bask in the awing glory of the void and plunge into combat.

There was a chip on his shoulder, undoubtably. He was too early to not have the burden of being at the tail end of the Third Imperial Civil War, being a green pilot in a fresh conflict and he was too late to bask in the glory of those great fleet battles. The bloody aurora of Mygeeto, the duel over Highport on Muunilinst, the battle in Dubrillion's debris fields and of course the magnificent siege of Bastion, the fall of darkness.

Though attached to the Hand of Vengeance, Var Koon's Seventh Fleet which was the very force that broke the Sith over their throne world he did not carry the same accolades as the rest of his squadron.

He had something to prove.

The TIE Slashers were a rare sight in New Imperial deployments with an obscure role. To drop the hammer. They were fighters able to tangle with most any other starfighter of the line, with the ability to force all power to its wing mounted turbolasers, able to conduct 'nova flare' operations to brutal results devestating capital ships in force only at the risk of being jumped on by faster vessels if left exposed.

A danger filled role, but one far too rewarding to willing forsake in favor of another.

<"This is Hammer Leader, pair off and stand by for priority targets..."> The Atrisian squadron lead sounded out through the unit as Artem honed in on his systems, tightening the grip around the throttle as he lurched into the fray with woeful Sith fighters in his sights to claim his first blood upon.

 

[Kolson Vrask]

V A N D A L
STORM COMMANDO TASK FORCE 'DARK RIDER'
VANDAL SQUAD
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
S U B L I M I N A T I O N
Meko Sorrin

Too late. Too fucking late. They were inches away from potentially catching the filth responsible, the supposed refugee or escaped slave that managed to plant the charge now sending the most prominent of the Ithorian Herd Ships in the death spiral as Omega Red bled through the life support systems of the vessel.

Failure, crippling failure. Who was truly responsible for this short coming, all too difficult to tell but Berik knew damn well he had a chance to stop it, the ship carrying this filth back on Er'kit. Now the New Imperial Order was in prime position to bungle this crisis and appear incompetent, unable to protect its subjects.

<"This is Omega Red. One leak of this into your airways and you're dead in seconds. Double check, triple check your armor sealing, antisepsis fields, all of it. We land in five."> Past the symphony of the green and crimson exchange of superheated tibanna the TIE Reaper carried the Storm Commandos into one of the exposed hangar bay of the Herd Ship.

What awaited them? Only a scene of death, slain Ithorians scattered through the bay as the sounds of blaster bolts and explosives cracked beyond the room.

The Storm Commandos flooded out into the fray, Berik checking the power cell in his BKM one last time before he readied the weapon, burying the stock into his shoulder.

No telling what Sith filth awaited them, only that he'd be accepting peace at the end of a blaster.

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
71st CF-RECONAISSANCE GROUP "GHOST VIPERS"
COBRA SQUAD
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
S W E E T _ L E A F

​

Every passing day he was becoming more and more into a demon, his innocence corrupted and shed off his soul like the Snake he was. What was once a young man, patriotic for his nation and ideals yet with a soft spot turned into a man full of zeal, the anger from his pains made him walk on the path he was now. His eternal war with dissidents that refused the promises of Imperialism made him into the man he was today. Haunted he was, but he never regretted his actions. They were, as he saw them to be, for the greater good. A good that would benefit the Galaxy. The Imperial Dream as he would call it.

All of this was illegal and morally wrong. Hell everything COMPNOR did could be all classified as illegal. Something that an average Stormtrooper wouldn't digest well and become nauseated with these hidden truths. But Djorn did it anyways. He dirtied his hands for his beliefs and values, something that took guts to do. Something that he would pass on to his unit.

They were angels from hell.

In secret, a squad of Vipers and other COMPNOR operatives landed on the sacred jungles of Ithor without the natives knowing. There were talks to be had between the Imperial diplomats and these Hammerheads, but that would all be delayed until the Sith filth was purged. For now their operation here must continue, no detours. With the planetary crisis being approached by their fellow comrades, Djorn and Tavius would take advantage of this as cover for their actions.

"You still familiar with drugs and spice, Muuaji?"

A relative question for what they were doing.

Tavius Muuaji ​

 

[Jorus Fel]

OBJECTIVE I
M A S S I F F - O N E
8 T H _ A I R B O R N E _ A L L _ I M P E R I A L
Kolson Vrask | Meko Sorrin ​

I was supposed to be prepared for my first solo recon mission. I wasn't. My feet trembled and my guts rolled as they sealed me alone in the insertion airpod. The thought they were sending me, a rookie, out there alone as the first to go made me think they were simply...discarding me. That was a common belief among us green boys in the 501st, the veterans there just had no love for fresh meat.

Things, as usual, have gone to shit. In the midst of the jungle of the herdship, I got made and pinned down by hostile fire.

Ammo was running low and my blood was drawing away from my face. It had turned into a blank and pale canvas.

<"MASSIFF-ONE, TO radio static -AL CALLSIGNS, I AM PINNE- radio static at JUNGLE CRESH at GRID radio static REPEAT, GRID radio static NEED BACKUP radio static."> the coordinates were transmitted but whether they reached anyone remained a mystery.

I considered gunning myself down.

 

[Damocles]

I _ A M _ D A M O C L E S
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
181ST STARFIGHTER WING | ANVIL SQUADRON
IMMOLATE | ITHOR ORBIT
TIE/INX INTERCEPTOR

​

Huk was a test for Damocles, a test that he had passed with flying colours according to IMPCOM.

After the demise of most of Outbreak Squadron, save for him, he was re-assigned to the 181st Starfighter Wing to fill a position that had opened up during one of their more recent missions. Anvil Squadron was one of the lesser-known postings in the One-Eighty-First, but it was nonetheless a great step up in the world for the lieutenant.

His squadron's assignment today, over Ithor, was to protect Hammer Squadron from enemy reprisal, which they were well-suited for in their TIE Interceptors. Damocles had flown a few simulations in the squint, but he'd have to get used to the ships smaller frame and greater speed compared to the eyeball he used to fly.

As he launched from the hangar bay with the rest of his squadron, twelve in total, he noticed that all of their fighters sported red stripes save for him. He hoped to rectify this by doing more than necessary to earn his stripes, and by extension his place in the 181st.

Flying felt good.

Artem Strag​

 

[Tavius Muuaji]

S N A K E
IMPERIAL DRUG CABAL
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NARROW_ROADS

​

Spice and drugs.

Tavius thought this sort of thing was behind him by many years - especially for someone who had lived in the lifestyle. Fighting for the Imperials? Not the best way to stay alive. He'd almost died plenty enough times while on Kalee or Huk. But outside of some dutybound service to get revenge for the murder of his family by the hands of Jedi, his only goal was making it to 30. It was milestone in the gang life, one that he wasn't sure he could make - no matter the job he did. Soldier, gangster, veterinarian, or even an accountant?

What was stopping the Sith, Bryn'adul, or even the next crazed Jedi from leveling a city with the crazed delusion that they were saving it?

If creating and pushing spice was an avenue for the Imperials to undermine their enemies?

Tavius was here for it.

"Depends if you're talkin' recreational and want 'em coming back. Moved Glitteryll combined with Rankweed back on Coruscant. But if you're talkin' performance enhancers, Andris' good for that."

Djorn Bline

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[Gat Tambor]

Y U N G _ S K A K O
DIRECTOR OF THE TRADE FEDERATION
I M P E R I A L _ S P I C E
Djorn Bline | Tavius Muuaji ​

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Collecting and cleaning up the scraps and crashes of Sith or Imperial ships crashing into Ithor was the excuse for the Trade Federation's presence on the coveted surface of this world. They'd...keep it clean, certainly. All the same, the potent and exotic flora of Ithor would be open and ripe for the taking with an Imperial lab and plant being established within the bowels of the jungle.

The Skakoan could read the writing on the wall. The New Imperial Order was...a polarizing entity. Though now, among the Galactic governments it was either the NIO was hated or it was hated. All it took was for the dominos to truly start falling before the Imperial state would be isolated in the Galaxy while attempting to claw for sovereign autarky.

Spice. Spice was perfect for subverting any sanctions or tariffs that might restrict the trade with the New Imperial Order. It un-ending cash flow that came with moral and legal dubiousness. Just like just about everything Gat and the New Imperials got up to.

With the Trade Federation and New Imperial Order moving in tandem to set up this operation deep in the unreachable depths of the Ithorian jungle, Gat Tambor approached the pair, hovering atop the repulsorboard beneath his purple robes draped over his pressure suit.

<"OWEEERRRRRREEREERRRRRRRR- Not to interupt but I believe the best aim is a substance ultimately highly addictive with a desirable high to entry level users. Though of course this may come at the cost of physical set backs. Which the thin line must be walked between too good where it becomes legalized, destroying our means of income in the operation and too horrid to be outright crusaded against. It needs to be desirable to the underworld to risk trafficking it, even on worlds such as Coruscant, Corellia..."> Gat suggests.

 

[Velexia]

Location: Space, Ithor Orbit
Objective: Immolate
Tags: Artem Strag Damocles
Fighter: Chasianna's Modified TIE/HF Slasher - Hammer Seven
Wearing: New Imperial Flight Suit
Onboard Equipment: Survival Kit │ BH ‘Durin’ Charric Blaster Pistol

The animalistic roar of her TIE’s massive ion engines manifested as a low vibration in the shock couch, an electrifying sensation that was only made more potent by the stims coursing through her nerves. The beast of a machine howled in the silence of the void, raging for the blood of Sith terrorists, though tempered by the manipulations of a disciplined pilot, who yet still had something to prove. Chasianna took a calming breath, taking in her sensor readings as she pulled her craft into formation with Hammer squadron. It would only be moments before they came within range of their targets. And so, the young pilot readied herself, muscle-memorized routines going into motion to route power to crucial systems in preparation for the demands of high-intensity combat maneuvering.

While it had not taken long for the stims to act, Chasianna was still set on edge. The drugs gave her focus, but that focus was only good when she had something to apply it towards, beyond flipping switches and pressing buttons. Her anxieties regarding her skills as a pilot still poked at her poise, even now, when combat was only moments away.

Fortunately, in hearing the voice of the squadron lead, Chasianna found temporary relief. She maneuvered her Slasher into formation behind and slightly to the right of her wingman, leveling her wings as she brought power to the enhanced turbolasers built into their frame. From there, she released a bated breath and set her eyes ahead as the first targets appeared in her HUD, each marked blood-red to distinguish their presence in the camouflage of the black void. From there, the diminutive Zeltron pushed the engines, flying just behind her partner in order to cover his aggressive drive into the melee of Sith fighters...

 

[Strappa The Thicka]

B A S K _ I N _ H I S _ I M M E N S E N E S S
BEEFLORD OF THE PRISON INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX
L E G A L I Z E _ D R U G S _ A N D _ M U R D E R
Gat Tambor | Tavius Muuaji | Djorn Bline​

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The ground quivered. Each incoming step from the Beeflord filled Ithor with a horrible dread. Microscopic screams emanated from the very fauna in his path. This was his wake. Repulsors kept a glasteel aquarium afloat as it followed behind him. The eyes of every Klatooine patty frog within were filled with the grim acceptance of their fate; calories for the Lord of Girth.

With the abolition of slavery, Strappa required other avenues of revenue. Spice. Of course it was spice. It wasn't Strappa's idea, all credit went to THE MIGHTY GAT TAMBOR. Strappa wasn't an ideas man, his grey matter suffered where his mass thrived.

A paddy frog appeared in his hand. He did not reach into the aquarium but rather willed it to be. Nothing defies him, not even logic. A horrible undulating slurp echoed across the jungle as he devoured it with repugnant impunity.

<We will require this substance to be easily mass-produced. Nothing so sensitive to only thrive in Ithor's climate. This is the big leagues.>

That was probably obvious. But as mentioned before, he wasn't the sharpest being. If his brain was as dense as the rest of him, he'd be Beeflord of the Galaxy by now. Strappa burped. Every bird in a ten-mile radius fled frantically.

 

[Lucien Dooku]

OBJECTIVE -- RITE OF TWO
ONBOARD THE DISSIDENT AGGRESSOR

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The question posed to him was one that he'd heard many times before since his initial acceptance into the New Imperial Order. The Exiled Prince of Serenno was an enigma among even his peers who served the cause for less nobler reasons than most. He didn't do it for the prestige and honor that it brought him, nor was he particularly in it for the power and influence that his position now afforded him. For those who were around during the Order's initial days, perhaps they were still privy to the memory of the adolescent who perched himself among the gathering of Warlords and Sith-Imperial defectors who offered their fealty to the newly-formed Order.

From within that crowd of people, the exiled Prince stood out little in comparison to his peers at the time. He was nothing but a kid with a far-fetched dream at the time, and unlike the veteran Imperials who brought warships and men to bear, the only thing he had to offer was his actions, not words. He fought alongside the now deceased Kor Vexen in his first sortie alongside the New Imperial Order. Green as possible, he somehow found himself in command of a couple dozen men who looked to him to guide them through the ambush that engulfed their convoy. Later he'd encounter Vaulkhar himself, accompanying both him and Irveric Tavlar during the talks which led to the inclusion of the Sons of Mandalore into their fold.

Slowly but surely he found himself being molded for something greater than what he'd ever hoped to accomplish since his exile from his home in Serenno. Countless battles were noted to his name, until the time had come for him to prove his worth against the hated foe across the frontlines. Together with Ryv the two Jedi valiantly led the charge upon the plains of Muunilinst, sacrificing the lives of many of their men in the the ambush which followed. Their fight against the Sith Lord Venari and his comrades would push him to the edge of his abilities. The Sith tempted him with words laced with poison, attempting to coerce him down the path of the dark after Luc's adoption of Vaapad against their foe. Yet still he held on, refusing to fold and compromise the principles that made him who he was.

It was a tough road to become what he'd eventually be. Not just an exiled Prince of a foreign land- but a Warlord of the Order. A symbol of the freedom and justice which he championed for from his headquarters on Nirauan. In a fit of irony, the same fortress which he'd blended into so well had eventually been renovated upon his orders.

He'd come full circle to where he started out as nothing but a punk kid with a dream.

His attention shifted back to Tavlar after he shifted out of his thoughts, his eyes glazing across from the viewport behind the man's desk and back onto the grizzled Sovereign Imperator of the Order. "I was expelled from my home because I refused to become Sith." He spoke up, his arms shifting from across his chest, his hands moving to rest within the pockets of his jacket. "My... Master at the time had been training me to take his place within the Sith, following the completion of my training with him. I wasn't aware at the time, but his loyalty to the Jedi had long before been supplanted by what the Sith were able to entice him with."

Tch.

He clicked his teeth at the thought. Luc chased the man down for years, believing him to be in trouble during those years he'd felt alone and abandoned by everyone he held close. He never believed that eventually his Master would fall to his own hands, but such was the way things turned out. "I carry myself in a manner that fits me best. I am a Prince of Serenno, that part of me will never change, and I refuse to apologize to anyone regarding who I am or what I believe. Back when I had nothin' but a ship and a droid to my name, it wasn't House Serenno-Dooku nor the Imperials I now call my peers who kept me from offing myself when nothing seemed worth it. It was the spacer trash who gave me a chance to live-- and live free. Jerec Asyr will forever hold my debt, no matter what backwater world he's running cargo on. People like him, Amea Virou , Vyri and the others who called the Infinity's Free their home were those who taught me what it was like to live free-- to call some place home again."

His eyes narrowed, a cold stare shifting onto the Sovereign Imperator for the first time. "And I abandoned all of them to fight your fuckin' war, Tavlar." ​

​

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

Ithor
Hallowed Gravehttps://www.artstation.com/artwork/OmrYb
Armor | Lightsaber | Body

​

Ithor. The fourth planet located in the Ottega system and, historically, one of the oldest members of the Galactic Republic before said Republic fell so many years ago. To historians and researchers, it was a beautiful place, one of impeccable culture and respect. To the Sith of Dread, it was simply another planet to raze in their move away from the Tingel system and into the far, hidden reaches of the Unknown Region. Another planet to rend as inhospitable as possible, if for nothing else than to remind the enemy that they are never safe from the Dark. The current capital ship of the Dread Ascendancy would make sure of that, either in full measure or partial. And it would do so with a glorious spectacle of sorcery and incomprehensible design.

Constructed out of alchemized rock ivory and devised in such a way as to operate in nigh-autonomous rotating segments, each armed with destructive weaponry and powerful modified ion engines, the Hallowed Grave was - in the greatest sense - mobile weapon. Additionally, when stagnant, it appeared to be a bent and misshapen stick from a fallen tree, meant to lure the enemy under the guise of a broken wreck. In motion, it roared like a leviathan of legend and moved through the stars as if space were merely an ocean of water.

Yet, not all was so interesting in the journey towards the planet. Seated upon his throne of skulls in the bridge, the Autarch watched with a bored gaze as the displays and lights of the consoles across the room jolted and jumped. A series of information he could not be bothered to care for. Not, at least, as much as those going about their duties to keep the ship running. From there, every so often, he would look to the open viewport - a roughly twenty by twenty rectangle of reinforced transparisteel - as the ship careened towards the glistening green planet in the distance. The New Imperial Order would be there, that much he had to confirm lest he avoided the planet altogether, but the damnable course to enter mortal combat once again was always the most unbearable part of the conflict.

"My Lord," a sudden voice croaked, drawing the Autarch's deathly stare. A young Zabrak man bowed - heavily scarred and conditioned from a nameless farming world some weeks prior. He had proven extremely useful since then in quite a number of conditions, hence the rare allowance to directly approach and speak with the Autarch.

"Speak, Lenu," Kascalion murmured from beneath the regal visage of his armor, his voice flat and uncaring.

The young Zabrak rose and quickly produced a datapad from his clasped hands, reading off the words as if they were sacred writings, "Our approach has been noted by the Imperials, as expected. They are moving to mount a defense of their operations and the Ithorian Herd Ships seeking to escape the combat, but much of the focus seems to be set on the ground advancement. Additionally, there appears to be another force acting against them."

The Autarch hummed in momentary intrigue and clattered his golden teeth in thought, "Who?"

"Pirates, Lord. Hired by ones already on the planet's surface. Terrorists, if our preliminary scans are correct."

The Autarch meditated on this for but a moment, mentally sifting through the lists of who it could be. Only a few came to a solid possibility, but without visual confirmation, he could not be certain. What he could be certain of, however, was that it would be a fight nonetheless, even if the ultimate outcome would be further retreat towards future expansion. "Prepare the squadrons. We go to battle."

​

The vessel now nearing orbit of Ithor where the New Imperial Order's fleet awaited was capable of holding twenty-eight squadrons. One-hundred and ninety-two fighters and one-hundred and forty-four support vessels, each lead ship piloted by a Force Sensitive expertly trained in the operation of zero-gravity vehicles and related combat scenarios. Only a quarter of the fighters, forty-eight in total, would be released in the initial wave, each squadron sent out to follow their roles to the letter with only the minimal allowance of freedom to do as they deemed necessary.

Kascalion knew from experience how faulty it was to let the soldiers under his command have full complete reign to fill the absence of caring and attentive leadership. The loss of the Vodvtaki, his dreadnought during his days among the Sith Empire, was the cementing of that fact. Now, a learned competency would be unleashed upon those that Autarch wished death upon.

The initial wave released from within the green-lit hangars with screaming red engines was to gauge and incapacitate the herd ships, destroy any if possible. The second wave, released when the first was destroyed or recalled, would be sent to engage with the enemy in accordance with what was learned, with support ships carrying hungry Marauders and Dread Knights to breach the Herd Ships for the purposes of slaughter and capture. It would hold twice as much of the first. The third and final wave would ensure the destruction of stragglers and the safe return of ships from the second.

All would be according to an intricate plan. One to spite those of Irveric Tavlar . The cursed slayer.

 

[Meko Sorrin]

O B J E C T I V E 1
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
Focus | Kolson Vrask | Hayek

​

Seal it up.

Sorrin gave his armor the once over. His air seals were tight, made the armor feel like it was a small closet. Makes breathing a little louder too, but nothing he couldn't handle. Any grievances with the armor he would have to get over quickly, a new challenge awaited before him and the other commandos on the transport. A firefight was breaking out within the hanger of the Herd Ship, from the outside looked like an impromptu warzone. Sith resistance was a guaranteed element, but hopefully, the Ithorians would give them a little help. Hopefully.

<"We have a plan here fellas. Deviate from it just a little and you can say goodbye to this wonderful life you live."> Sorrin said to the Commandos he stood by. They already knew this, it wouldn't make sense if they didn't. As the dropzone came nearer, Sorrin looked over his rifle. Pristine, cleaned to perfection, ready to blast the head off of any Sith that unfortunately landed into the crosshairs of his front sight. Soon enough, the TIE Reaper hit the dropzone, and the bay doors opened to a scene of death and destruction that would make any hardcore soldier jump with glee.

As bolts whizzed by their heads Sorrin took cover by a nearby speeder, surprisingly convenient for the current situation. Beads of sweat started to form on his forehead as the grip on his rifle tightened. The Sith seemed to outnumber the Ithorians and the Ithorians seemed to be more dead than alive. He propped his weapon upon the speeder's seat and proceeded to lay down suppressive fire. If a figure appeared in the sightline, it was shot down. 9 out of 10 chances say it was Sith so the shots continued.

As the suppressive fire continued, A crackling noise had formed in his ear. Most likely a communications buffer due to the hanger or a slight bit of damage to the helmet could cause static, but a message came right after. An unfamiliar voice for one, and a terrible signal for two.

<"MASSIFF-ONE, TO radio static -AL CALLSIGNS, I AM PINNE- radio static at JUNGLE CRESH at GRID radio static REPEAT, GRID radio static NEED BACKUP radio static.">

Sorrin couldn't come up with a proper answer. Not right now. He had Sith to worry about. He turned towards Berik, the lieutenant, to tell him of the new development.

<"LT! Transmission with coordinates just came in. We got a friendly trapped in the jungle waiting for a rescue.">

 

[Waymar Dathrohan]

H A M M E R - S I X
181st STARFIGHTER WING | HAMMER SQUADRON
SEVENTH FLEET | NIV PENITENT PELLAEON IV-CLASS STAR DESTROYER
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
TIE/HF Slasher | Flight Suit
Damocles | Chasianna | Kascalion Giedfield
V E N G E R

As the TIE Slashers screamed the roar of the metallic hellion into the fray it was a task and a half alone for Artem not to solely focus in on the neon crimson and cobalt lined instruments of the heavy TIE fighter. As the Sith vessels of the Dread Ascendancy fell into sight, it was time to drop the hammer. His gaze constantly danced between each control panel, set of numbers and esoteric instruments, making it difficult for the untrained eyes of the pilot to hone in on the real space around him.

As they beared down on their pray in the turbulent space in their established pairs his gaze shifted to the duo tone display once more, Hammer-Seven pinged on his port side aft, just in line with his own vessel.

It was the Zeltron, Chasianna . She wasn't all too far ahead of him in experience, funneled through the historic flight academy on Prefsbelt IV before replacing another fallen pilot in Hammer Squadron in the same round of replenishment as Artem was inducted into the unit. Maybe she could prove a confidant not so keen on alienating him. He wasn't any Sith-Imperial defector or veteran, he was green, some Entrallan nobody born from a shipbreaker and medical attendant in Nexus City. Nobody.

He could die in a spiraling blaze and no one would care, another Hammer-Six would be in his place the next day.

A ping came the way of the Seventh Fleet, Captain Ardor Pryde, one of their superior Admiral's closest advisors.

The Hallowed Grave, what the Seventh Fleet had tried to discern as the flagship to the Dread fleet.

Hammer took the role.

<"Alright Hammer, form up, ready to switch power to turbos. Target visible on visuals and display. Heading at two two one magnetic, five thousand meters descending."> The Atrisian squadron leader sounded out once more.

<"Hammer-Leader to Outbreak, requesting Interceptor cover for a Nova Flare run on their flag. Time to target sixty seconds.">

Hammer-Six eased his thumb over the power management before his gaze flicked to the battle infront of him, firing a burst of green burst cannons into the aft of a Sith fighter, eventually enveloped in the blaze as they passed through.

<"Hey- Seven...good luck."> He wanted to make some impression, on someone. That few seconds of pairing in the fray gave him some tether to another cog in the machine.

But it was time to drop the hammer as they closed in on the Sith vessel, though finding a soft point was a challenge all its own.

 

[Kolson Vrask]

V A N D A L
STORM COMMANDO TASK FORCE 'DARK RIDER'
VANDAL SQUAD
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
S K Y _ M I G H T _ F A L L
Meko Sorrin | Hayek | Darth Vinaze

<"You heard the man, we got 501st trapped in the jungle levels above. Ping on HUD, time to ascend."> Berik said before soon enough the ringing senses made way for the droning alarm of the Herd Ship. It had a special, foreboding inflection to its unchanging time signature and pace. It must've been the different dichotomy of Ithorian technology or maybe a universal pattern reserved for a gas leak or atmospheric breach. He honed in on that noise for a second before doing his best to throw it into the background, his ears searching for blaster fire, explosions, anything.

The door from the hangar bay slid open, more bodies of the Hammerheads lined the floors. No sign of a cauterized impact wound or laceration. Suffocation. It must've been especially agonizing given Ithorians had six? eight? lungs. Taking all the more longer to breath in and die from the gas than humans.

It made him adjust the rebreather attached to the exterior of his Storm Recon helmet. He was almost afraid he loosened it enough to let the red leak in only before taking a deep, shuttered and clean inhale of recycled breath.

The rebreather made it feel stale, but it was a worthwhile price to pay for survival.

<"Lift, just this way. 501st should be just above us."> Berik said, his eye unmoving from the sights of his particle beam rifle as they advanced further in a clattering wave of black.

The industrial lift willed open with a metallic hiss to make way for Vandal Squad, making way for more dead hammerheads.

Thank fuck he didn't have to power through the smell of this place.

<"Massiff-Actual. Vandal is enroute, hold position."> Berik sounded out as the Squadron lined up to power through the door once it opened and it did with a sudden stop of the lift, giving way to the jungle, the artificial light of the Ithorian-like atrium flashing, dimming, faltering to give way to the starfield and chaos at the other side of the glasteel dome.

<"Massiff...we're on your level...relay location."> Berik commanded once more as they advanced into the jungle. Though an artificial machination, the primal horror of a venue so enclosed drove higher demands of his rebreather. They continued onward.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
DISSIDENT AGGRESSOR SOVEREIGN-CLASS STAR DREADNOUGHT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
BYOO | RITE IN TWO
R I G H T _ I N _ T W O
Lucien Dooku

Though the last dig in Lucien's sentiment might have been crafted to marr and rip at the Sovereign Imperator, he gave his characteristic response of frigid coolness in reply, nodding once. Humble origins for a man born in the purple, destined for nobility. Though an odd posturing on Dooku's part to make on Tavlar. Ultimately, under the Sith, he still had the choice. His fate was ultimately in his hands from the start and it might've been far too easy to abide to their wishes and bury their lies.

Evidently, he opted for a different path.

Just as Irveric did, the stroke of divergence being -

"I didn't have any choice, not like you did. That doesn't make what you didn't less any valorous. It is the will of defiance all its own. But I was no fortunate son." Tavlar remarked.

"Dantooine...its an abrasive land. Agrarian, a pin prick of Galactic significance save for what the Jedi and Mandalorians had put there. The Sith had warped that however, when they came. All an altar to their depraved cult, a humble world shaped to be a testament of false sentiment to their dark creed. Those were the grounds from which the Sith plucked me, Lucien. A young man, used to tougher work, raising a younger brother and an infirm mother by eighteen. I had no father to raise me up, nor any true adult figure to look after my development. I had learned the ways of the world myself. To them, I was nothing. Doomed to a life nose to the grindstone in pursuit of insurmountable inherited debts. I'd been qualified to weld hull breaches on capital vessels, maybe the only thing able to opt me for the Officer Academy instead of basic infantry, the basic chattel left to the slaughter by the Sith." Tavlar regails of a pitiful history.

"Being a leftenant gave me the faintest quarter to my being. But I was forced to leave a broken kin to fight their fuckin' wars. And I did. A good job at it as well. Until it took a good luck around me to realize...none of them cared. These Sith. I'd held dying men and women in my arms, pulled them from burning wreckage and screaming blaster bolts. I'd been there for them or at least...I certainly tried, every damn time. Those Sith...in those eyes there's a cold apathy, a lurching forebodingness. That ever moment you trade gazes with them...you fear its your last and they know they have all power over you. They protect their own as any other, any conflict of command or stratagem was a losing battle." Tavlar stated.

"I'd done unspeakable things in service to them...and it awakened the ghosts. Kintan...Mandalore. No sane man can live in service to this, to this broken machine churning nothing but suffering and depravity in its wake. And I made that choice...to risk everything and lash at the gods." Tavlar stated.

"Where you had your spacer friends, I had my men, my loyal soldiers who marched with me through everything and beyond. It was either I lead them in battle in certain death in servitude to masters who regarded them as numbers, no better than droids. Or in service to a dream, an ideal of a world free of this tyranny. Where the Imperial ruled his own fate....and the Galaxy might be at peace."

"But in this philsophy, of the Order we've built, you seem to bare conflict. Understandably so, no ideology is perfect and you are no traditional son of the Empire, born in the grey and steel of its way of life. So then...you speak with a chip on your shoulder and you're here. You want to enact change on the Galaxy, for good. That I can see...but what is it to you?" Tavlar inquires genuinely.

 

[Cartr Arkhis]

Hostile_Skies​

After long rest 191, 203 and 199 Squadrons Pilots got next assignment. Unlike on Huk Enemies on Ithor had some new starfighters, still setting Traps and Hunting them was as easy as always for his underlings. Looking around on Battlefield for next targets when suddenly he got pretty good idea
<199 and 203 continue purging hostile starfighters, 191 follow me>

He led his Pilots near one of enemy Carrier Engines. They were followed by few enemy pilots but now it was not important, Carrier was heavily damaged and only was managing to stay on Orbit due to full power in main engine, after few whiles Cartr saw what he was looking for big exposed cooling pipe. he fired missiles and observed as they were coming for their prey.

After the Pipe got blown up, Engine of Carrier stoped working and warmachine pulled by Gravitation field started to fall, Cartr pulled triger responsible for Activation of Turbolasers and started atacking smaller vessels, easily destroying small patrol ships and bombers, he was observing and decided which target is second.

<Heres commander of 191 squadron, can any squadron support us in atack on this Sith Star Cruiser?>

Cartr was looking for dead spot of cruiser PDS cannons, after he found it he awaited the answer from Allied pilots.

Damocles
Artem Strag

 

[Jorus Fel]

OBJECTIVE I
M A S S I F F - O N E
8 T H _ A I R B O R N E _ A L L _ I M P E R I A L
Kolson Vrask | Meko Sorrin
W A L L E N S T E I N​

<"Massiff-Actual. khh...khhh enroute, hold pos- *khhh...khh">

<"Below ridge beari- khh...khhh river del- khhh...khh">

Where the fuck is this radio interference coming from I fucking swear?!?

<"HURRY UP, AMMO AND TANK LOW!!!"> I yelled over the comms in panic. My oxygen levels were running low, the red bar blinking in an ominous rhythm. The dread running through my body didn't help either. My breaths paced and my heart rapid fired adrenaline; the exhilaration in the maw of death nearly blacked me out. I knew I was in a shock but so what? I couldn't do shit about it except recognize it.

The firing from over the cover intensified and the crunching of leaves and branches grew louder. Each hurried step they took towards my position, I recounted the last moments of my life. I wanted to weep and kill like a caged animal. Fury and misery raged in a tempest of contradiction. Fear drowned my legs into wet noodles but my hands could bend steel. With trembling hands I reached for the one thermal detonator I had and turned it on; if I were to go, I would make these bastards pay for it. Drag them to hell and make them pay there where the field was levelled.

A goodbye to mother and father, and a future lost.

Fuck this galaxy of shit!!

 

[Damocles]

I _ A M _ D A M O C L E S
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
181ST STARFIGHTER WING | 5/181ST "ANVIL" SQUADRON
IMMOLATE | ITHOR ORBIT
TIE/INX INTERCEPTOR

Damocles observed as the Dread fighters launched from their carrier vessels like a swarm of wasps, eager to devour the Imperials with extreme prejudice on their approach. Listening in to his TIE's comlink as Anvil Leader relayed Hammer Squadron's request, the pilot pushed his throttle forward and followed the rest of his squadron to form up alongside the Slashers.

<"We'll take you in, Hammer Squadron. Hostiles coming in at three-forty, moving to intercept. Weapons tight."> Anvil Leader called over the comms, the interceptors veering off slightly to face one of the approaching squadrons.

Anvil Squadron split up before entering firing range, elements racing forward to pick off their designated targets. Damocles and his wingmate ganged up on a duo of fighters, the man pressing down on the firing mechanism and destroying one of them with a burst of laser fire. His wingmate did the same, the element moving on to clean up any stragglers as their squadron picked apart the enemy.

The TIE pilot spotted a spitter in the distance, increasing his throttle to catch up with them as his targeting computer locked on, manoeuvring his fighter to centre the ship in his sights when it suddenly jerked downward, clipping their wing with a stray bolt that sent them careening into the path of his next burst.

<"Splash two hostiles, Anvil Ten resuming formation."> Damocles called over his commlink, joining Anvil Nine as the element formed up with the rest of the squadron, Anvil Leader directing them back to where Hammer Squadron was making their attack run.

<"Turn to point four-six and switch your shields to double front, see if you can't take some of those guns out for the Hammer to fall."> The comm crackled, Damocles diverting auxiliary power to overcharge his shields before they assaulted the target.

Artem Strag | Chasianna | Kascalion Giedfield ​

 

[Darth Vinaze]

​

WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE
Meko Sorrin | Kolson Vrask | Hayek​

An explosion rocked the jungle. Not one from the battle outside, but one nearby. It was time to increase the resistance if the Dread Ascendancy wished to reap Ithor. Derleth wheezed heavily into his rebreather. He was not entirely accustomed to his new body. His emaciated frame of atrophied muscles and mutations was a sight to behold, and wished for every New Imperial aboard this ship to behold it. They would see what they had done to him, and they would cower in fear at the monster they had created. But first he would have to make monsters of his own.

Derleth held an Ithorian above him in a force grip and plunged his sword deep into the man's stomach. He let his sword and, by extent, himself feed off the fear and pain. He dropped the Ithorian's corpse down to the dirt and turned to his other captives. Two more Ithorian soldiers who thought they could stop the march of the coming Sith'ari. It was almost humorous. They were not bound, no. Their legs had been broken to stop them from running away. It was nothing the Dark Side could not fix.

He sheathed his sword and approached the grovelling men. He did not understand their Ithorese pleas, nor would he care if he did. He approached the men with his arms outstretched, placing a hand on each in the ridges between their eyes. Just as he did not understand them, they did not understand the ancient Sith words he spoke. They did however feel them. They could feel the dark side, so unfamiliar to them, eating away at their minds and taking control of their motor functions. They would soon be unwilling pawns of the Dread Sith Lords. As the Sith sorcery worked on corrupting the poor souls, Derleth knelt down and focused on finding the presence of enemies in the force. No strong signs of the force, but nonetheless he could sense a few people who were not blessed with the gift of the force. They were approaching at a distance.

As he arose from his meditative state, the Ithorians stood above him, completely blank eyed and motionless. They had not undergone full transformation into true sithspawn, but their minds had been taken over enough that they would serve and die for the Sith. He only had to raise his hand in a direction before the Ithorians picked up their blasters and moved towards the New Imperials.

As the New Imperials approached, the Ithorians burst from the jungle foliage and beset them. They were unlikely to stand against Storm Commandos for long, but it bought enough time that Derleth could create something far worse...